


Tigger Baby

by sassenach94



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10559074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassenach94/pseuds/sassenach94
Summary: Not completely sure where this is headed yet.. Will update later. PLEASE feel free to comment so that I may improve my writing. Your opinions are more than welcome.Peyton Sawyer is a psychiatrist working in Charming, California. Chance brings her into the world of the Sons of Anarchy circle. Choice puts her in bed with Alexander "Tig" Trager. The sexual relationship that ignites between the two puts a strain on her job, his standing with the MC, and everyone in the middle of a murder investigation.





	1. Chapter 1

She couldn't even remember the details of how it all started, this lust-filled relationship. It just sort of happened. Not that it should come as any surprise, to her or anyone else for that matter. Tig Trager was notorious for being a "ladies man." So what caused someone like Peyton, the grad student new to Charming, to fall into bed with him? Maybe it was the mystery, the peculiar sense of humor he possessed. Or perhaps it was the broken soul that glimmered through those piercing, icy blue eyes when he tried so hard to hide. All she knew is that six months after moving to this quaint little town pushed her further from her studies and drew Peyton closer into the life of the MC.

From what she did recall, it was summer, and the beat up Nissan Rogue she drove had finally quit. She had put off making repairs on it, completely unaware that the few ticks her car had would lead to a much bigger problem. So much for the little bit of money she had stashed away into savings.

Charming, being the homely little town that it was didn't have much in the way of public transportation, and even less appealing was paying out of the ass for a cab ride everywhere she needed to go. After trying to get her car to start a few more times, Peyton made a quick trip to Google Maps to find the nearest towing company and mechanic shop. Teller-Morrow Automotive was the first name that popped onto the screen, and luckily enough for her, they had their own tow truck. She promptly dialed the number below the company's name and gave the woman on the phone my location. It wasn't fifteen minutes later before she saw the white and gold truck pulling up beside her.

"Hey.. are you one Ms. Sawyer?" inquired a friendly voice. He was a Hispanic male, tattoos on either side of his head centered around a low cut faux hawk. A leather kutte with patches stitched "Sons of Anarchy California" graced his torso. He was a handsome man, with an innocent air about him. Not quite what she had anticipated from the chatter around town surrounding the motorcycle club. Whispers flitted about citizen's lips about the notorious biker gang, all of whom insisted they were conspiring in gun running, drug smuggling, and the occasional murder.

"Peyton." She nodded, extending her hand to him, to which he gently shook.

"Alright, cool. Let me hook up your car and we'll take it down to the shop. Bobby should be able to give you a rundown of the repairs as well as the estimate for everything."

She learned on the ride to Teller-Morrow that the man who rescued her from the sweltering heat went by the name of "Juice." He was a quirky individual who did an awful lot of talking. She was grateful that the ride wasn't dead silent, and despite the fact that Juice rattled off quite a bit, she wasn't bothered by the seemingly never-ending conversation.

Once they had pulled into the lot, Juice parked the tow truck off to the side and bounded off toward the mechanic bays at a jog. He could give the energizer bunny a run for his money. Peyton hopped out of the passenger side, now feeling completely out of place. Earlier in the day she had an interview for a well sought-after internship, and thus was still dressed for the occasion. Her black heels, khaki skirt, and flowy blush coloured top weren't exactly what she would call "fitting" around a group of men in grease-stained jeans and t-shirts. Their attire wasn't what bothered her, but rather the impression that mine would give off.

Smoothing down her skirt, she headed in the same direction that Juice had, though her route was slightly altered. Instead of heading into the garage bay, Peyton stepped into the room which had OFFICE stenciled in white paint above the doorway. Each step she took toward it echoed loudly in her ears, the tapping of her heels deafening to nearly all that was occurring around her.

Much to her relief, the office was empty. She stepped further into the entrance, dropping her purse into one of the vacant seats situated against the wall before leaning on the doorway. While the idea of hiding away in the darkened, cool office was tempting, she figured it was a better idea to keep nearby where one of the mechanics, or the friendly man named Juice, would be able to find her.

Peyton heard Juice conferring with who she assumed to be Bobby, the man with the answer to her mechanical woes, as her eyes scanned the somewhat vacant lot. A few motorcycles were parked neatly in a row to her right, to her left were vehicles, either awaiting repairs or needing to be picked up by their rightful owners. In the distance sitting at a picnic table, was a disgruntled looking man smoking a cigarette. His gaze was piercing, cold, and analytical as he sized her up from afar. His unwavering gaze made her a little uncomfortable, but she was unwilling to let it show. It was only when she heard someone clear their throat that she shifted her attention away from the dark-haired individual.

The large man, who she learned was, indeed, Bobby, inquired about the issues she had with her car prior to it not starting that afternoon. After a quick rundown, he guessed they would have her in and out by that evening, but informed her that he couldn't guarantee anything until they had a look under the hood. While they began disassembling her vehicle, she was tasked to fill out some paperwork about the general issues with her car, the make and model, as well as her contact information.

As the sun began to set, it was clear that her car wouldn't be up and running any time that evening, especially since she had learned Bobby had to order a part that wouldn't be in at the local auto parts store until tomorrow. She fished my brain for ideas of who to call for a ride home, perhaps one of her fellow classmates, before deciding on a cab.

"Hey, guys, is there a cab company that serves this area? Nothing came up when I searched online." Peyton inquired, stepping into the garage from the door that was adjacent to the office.

"Yeah, but they charge you crazy high." Juice stated with an amused laugh. "One of us can drop you off if need be." He added.

"I really don't want to put you guys out. It's fine, I can call a cab." Peyton insisted, shaking my head.

"Nonsense, a nice lass such as yourself shouldna add onto an already expensive car bill. One of us will give you a ride." Chibs, the Scotsman with a scarred face, insisted.

"I live on Cedar Hill, just a few houses down from County line road." Peyton finally relented, running her fingers through her thick, dark waves.

"Aye, Tig lives not a block away from ye." Chibs nodded, prior to shouting across the lot. "TIG, get yer lazy arse over here."

"Jesus Christ, Chibs. I'm not deaf." Spat out the man with the dark, curly mop of hair that had been eyeing her earlier. "What do you need so bad as to pull me away from my beer?"

"Yer goin' to give the lass a ride home. Her home is right on the route ye take." Chibs stated matter-o-factly.

Eyeing her for a moment, Tig nodded toward his bike. "We'll take my bike. You don't have a problem with that, do you...?" He paused, awaiting some sort of answer.

"Peyton. And no, I don't." She insisted firmly, refusing to let herself seem inferior to the abrasiveness of the man. Grabbing her purse from the chair to her right, she pushed past him and walked toward the row of motorcycles, knowing full well that his tall stature could catch up to her much shorter one.

With just a few jogging strides, Trager was able to catch up to her, but not before having a quick word with Juice, insisting that he look into one Peyton Sawyer. Grabbing an extra helmet, Tig handed it over before quickly swinging his leg over the bike.

Tucking away her chocolatey locks, Peyton secured the helmet and stepped closer to the bike. Realizing that a pencil skirt wasn't the most practical of clothing for joyriding on a motorcycle, she was forced to shimmy her skirt further up her legs. The khaki article of clothing rested on her mid to upper thigh before she was able to swing her leg over the bike. The scene was enough to gather the attention of both the prospects, Juice, Chibs, and Bobby, all watching in amusement from the garage.

She locked her fingers around his torso, pressing herself firmly against his back. The last thing she wanted to do was be unsteady on the back of a motorcycle belonging to a purported biker gang member. "Let's go, Tig." Peyton insisted, closing her eyes for a brief moment in anticipation of the take off.


	2. Chapter 2

The trip from the MC to her little home in Charming wasn't very long, maybe ten minutes by Tig's bike. The cool breeze whipped against her face the entire time, nothing but the sound of his motorcycle, nothing to see but the darkness. It was the first time Peyton had ever been on a motorcycle, and she had to admit, it was one of the most exhilarating things she had ever done.

They pulled into the paved drive to her home, the deafening silence caving in on the two of them once Tig had cut the engine's motor. She was suddenly aware of how difficult it was removing her hands, which had been interlocked tightly against his torso on the ride home. She was able to feel the heat of his body through the thin layer of fabric that his shirt had provided as a barrier between their bodies.

She got off of the bike with much more grace than she had gotten onto it - at least, once she managed to pry her hands away from his body. Taking a few steps away, her fingers nimbly reached up and undid the clasp on the helmet that adorned the top of her head. He watched intently, every movement she made underneath the soft glow from the streetlights.

"Thanks for the ride." Peyton said, extending the helmet toward him.

"Not a problem, darling." He smiled, tucking the helmet away in one of the saddlebags.

"Up for a nightcap? It's the least I can offer for the ride." I insisted, fishing her keys from her purse.

"Don't have to ask me twice, sweetheart." Tig stated, hitting the kickstand with his foot and swinging his body from the motorcycle in fell swoop.

After a few drinks, or five, she had managed to become quite comfortable with the previously intimidating biker. It had less to do with the alcohol and more to do with the formidable sense of humor that sprang from his lips. While others may have found it offensive, Peyton enjoyed the fact that he pushed boundaries and didn't take life too seriously. I suppose you can't in the MC's profession.

It was around 11pm when he insisted he should take off. His fingers ran through the dark curly locks that adorned his head as he rose from her couch. It only caused another bout of butterflies to flutter within the pit of her stomach.

As she followed him toward the front door, she spoke up.

"Hey, gimme your phone." She insisted, leaning against the wall near her front door, hand outstretched. Surprisingly, he did as he was told. "Give me a call when my car's done." She murmured, pushing the phone into his back pocket after she had left her number in his contacts.

"Yeah, okay." Tig murmured, resting his forearm against the wall above her head.

Gripping the front of his shirt, she pulled him in closer, closing in the space between them. She noticed the slight flash of pleasant surprise cross his face. Reciprocating, her face was caught between his fingers. The calloused skin felt harsh against her face, but she relished the sensation. His lips were rough against hers as he pushed her up against the wall, his hand moving away from her face and down to her breast.

Peyton's fingers ran through his hair, gripping his curls tightly. Suddenly, she was hoisted into the air, his hands firmly gripping my thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was caught between the cool wall and his chest, which radiated nothing but heat. Tig's lips trailed away from her mouth and instead down her neck, causing a quiet moan to escape her lips.

Tugging on his hair roughly, she brought his mouth back to hers, his lip caught between her teeth. Just as she had pushed the leather kutte from his shoulders, his prepay began to ring. Groaning, he sets her onto my feet again and whips out the burner.

"Yeah?" Tig answers, his tone distasteful toward whoever inconveniently interrupted the two of them. "Shit, yeah. I'll be right there." He mutters, flipping the phone shut. "I gotta go. Club business."

"Yeah.. Just.. Just let me know when my car's done." Peyton insisted, slightly out of breath, as she pressed the kutte she had just removed from his body against his chest.

Nodding, he ducked out of the front door. The engine roaring to life in the darkness rumbled in the distance until it could no longer be heard.

"Shit." Peyton muttered, swallowing hard as she locked the deadbolt to her front door.


	3. Chapter 3

It was around 11am when someone began knocking on the front door, forcing Peyton to tear her attention away from the Psychology Licensure prep before her. Setting a pencil in between the pages she had been reviewing, she got up from the couch. Glancing through the peephole, she was noticed the same tribal tattoos on either side of a faux hawk from the day before.

"Hey, your car will be ready soon, so the guys sent me to pick you up." Juice announced, flashing her one of his kind-hearted smiles.

"Thanks, come on in while I get my shit together." Peyton insisted, nodding toward her living room.

It didn't take much coaxing, or any at all, for Juice to saunter into the living room, plopping down in the spot she had not long ago occupied. He eyed the EPPP book lying open-faced on the cushion next to him, trying to decipher what it was that she had her nosed buried in.

"What's this?" He finally questioned, tapping one of the pages.

"Oh, I'm studying for my licensure. Psychology." Peyton offered, lacing up the black converse which now adorned her feet. "If you ever want to talk, or just need someone listen, stop by or give me a call." She added, tapping her throat, referencing the dark mark which marred his tan skin.

She could see the shame that flickered in his eyes, but he nodded silently, looking down at the geometric rug that his feet rested on.

"I've been there, no judgement." Peyton said softly, grabbing her wallet from the coffee table which formed a barrier between the two of them.

Juice sprung to his feet quickly, resuming his chipper attitude once more. She was glad to see the company truck parked outside, rather than his motorcycle. She had thoroughly enjoyed her first bike ride, but was relieved to know that she wouldn't be in such close quarters with yet another member of the MC. Something about leather, tattoos, and motorcycles was irresistible, and she was trying her best to distance herself from any romantic relationships while she was temporarily stationed in Charming.

Hopping out of the Teller-Morrow tow truck, Peyton strolled casually behind Juice toward the office. Even though her car wasn't operational, she went ahead and paid Chucky, a truly unusual character, processing orders. He was a bit odd, his strange prosthetic hands only adding to his truly awkward nature, but very kind.

She decided to sit and keep the man company, per his request, in the darkened room. The door to the entrance as well as one that opened up to the shop were both propped open, allowing the air to circulate. The AC in the building had gone out and the repairman had yet to stop by, she learned. It was then that she was grateful for wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a baggy, off the shoulder band tee.

Peyton had pulled her hair up into a messy bun and was fanning herself with her receipt when Gemma came into the office. She eyed the brunette before giving orders to Chucky to pick up a list of parts from the store for the guys.

"I didn't get the chance to ask yesterday, but where are you from, sweetheart?" Gemma inquired, cocking her head to the side.

"And the accent gives me away.. Tennessee, Memphis to be exact." Peyton admitted, tucking the receipt underneath her leg.

"Knew you weren't from around here.. What brings you to Charming? A little far from home.." Gemma remarked, lighting the cigarette that was now fashioned between her lips.

"A change of scenery, mostly. I'm finishing up graduate school out in Lodi. I'm currently looking at various internships, and once I take my licensure exam, I can finally practice." Peyton added, offering her a small smile.

"Oh yeah? What for?" She questioned, taking a long drag off of her cigarette.

"Psychiatry. All the fun of a psychologist, but with the ability to write prescriptions." Chucky speeding away on a moped catching her attention.

The ringing telephone cut through her thoughts and she was brought back to reality. She listened as Gemma answered with the generic "Teller-Morrow Automotive" before her tone switched to that of concern. It was only a few minutes later that she hung up the phone.

"Gotta go, sick grandbaby." She muttered, stubbing out the remainder of her cigarette.

Peyton felt uncomfortable sitting in the small office alone, so she wandered out to the picnic table next to a building across the lot. It sat in the shade and would get her out of the hair of the men fumbling with various vehicles in the garage bays. She climbed onto the tabletop and laid down, enjoying the fan above circulating the air, even if it was hot.

About twenty minutes later, she heard a chorus of rumbles from various motorcycles pulling into the parking lot. They were placed in a uniform line, in a separate, reserved area for the bikes. Various men clamored toward the building next the the table she now sat up on. Peyton recognized the man who identified himself as Bobby, the Scottish man, a handsome blonde with a slight beard, a grizzly of a man with a kind face, a rather intimidating Hispanic male, and the infamous Tig.

"Sorry, I was just waiting on my car." Peyton apologized, hopping down from the tabletop.

"You're fine, darlin'. Join us for a drink?" The blonde asked, flashing a smile of pearly whites.

"It's five o'clock somewhere, right?" She asked, following the blonde who held the door open for her. The flash of cold air was enough to know she had made the right decision, even if her mother would frown upon day drinking.

"I'm Jax," He stated, pulling up a chair at the bar. "That's Bobby, Chibs, Opie, Happy, and Tig." He continued to rattle off their names, pointing at the appropriate individual.

"Peyton." She nodded, pulling up a bar stool nearest the door.

"Prospect, drinks!" Bobby shouted, and a rather husky fellow with an awkward air about him emerged from the back.

"Beer?" Jax asked.

"I'm more of a hard liquor kind of girl.. Two shots of tequila?" Peyton asked the awkward man named Phil. She gathered that her choice in alcohol caught the approval of each of the men seated at the bar judging by the smiles and nods.

Most of the men drank a shot of whiskey before heading their separate ways. Bobby ran off to the shop, insisting that they were all idiots and needed supervision. Opie went home for lunch to visit his wife and kinds. Happy, Chibs, and Jax went off to handle "club business" at Caracara. Their departures left her alone in the company of Tig and Phil.

"Beat it, prospect." Tig insisted, going behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo. Without asking, he filled both of the shot glasses in front of her to the brim before unscrewing the top on the bottle of Jack and drinking straight from it.

"Did you get business settled last night?" Peyton questioned, bringing the first glass to her lips.

He screwed on the top to his liquor. "Yeah, the club figured things out here." Tig said, sliding the bottle halfway down the bar. "Could have handled it without me."

"You mean like I had to do?" Peyton asked, downing the first shot.

"Oh.. Okay, that.. that's not fair." Tig groaned, his fingers running over his short goatee.

Juice stuck his head inside the door. "Peyton, car's ready." He called before ducking back out.

Turning back the last shot, she leaned across the bar, leaving just a few inches between their faces. "Later, tiger." She winked, hopping down from the stool she had been perched on.


	4. Chapter 4

******* 4 Months Later *******

Peyton had become pretty cozy with the guys at Teller-Morrow. Every so often she would find the time to take them up on their offer to have drinks and shoot pool with them at the MC. Mostly, though, she spent time with Juice, her new-found best friend in the haphazard small town. He had surprised her months before by taking her up on her offer of counseling after his failed suicide attempt, and since then, the pair spent much of their time together - when he wasn't at the MC at least.

She had recently taken up a position at St. Thomas as one of three psychiatrists on the payroll, and while she enjoyed the company of the men, Margaret Murphy, the administrator at the hospital, had been on her case about spending time with the lot of criminals. Instead of spending the evening with the boys, she decided to stay in and curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine and good book.

At around 1:30am she heard pounding at her front door. Grabbing the pistol Juice had given her out of the drawer of her coffee table, she quietly made her way to the front door. Standing on her tiptoes, she glanced through the peephole, noticing the mop of dark curls and piercing blue eyes on the other side of the door. Sighing in relief, she did the locks to the door and cracked it.

"Don't you know people with day jobs have to sleep at night?" Peyton teased.

"Don't pretend you were even close to sleeping." Tig retorted, causing Peyton to move out of the way. "You planning on using that?" He questioned, his hand resting on his belt buckle.

"Shoes." She ordered, pointing from his boots to the rug at the base of the door, which had tracked water onto her hardwood floors. "I'm not used to visitors this late at night. Stories of the boogie men have me a little jumpy." She teased, returning the gun to its rightful place in the drawer. "What's up?" She questioned, curious as to why he had stopped by so late.

"We missed you at TM." Tig stated, kicking off his boots before getting comfortable on her couch. His eyes rested on her face after a quick glance at her figure.

Tying the sash to her thigh-length robe around her body, Peyton managed to conceal the thin jersey material of her camisole and shorts beneath the black satin fabric. "The club, or you?" She raised an eyebrow, reclaiming her spot on the small couch, only this time stretching her legs out and resting them over Tig's thighs.

His fingers grazed over her shins, the light touch causing goosebumps to raise on her pale skin. "All of us, though Juice seemed to take it the hardest." Tig smiled, noticing the slight shiver she gave as his fingers trailed further up her leg.

"The boy is fine, he saw me yesterday." Peyton rolled her eyes playfully, grabbing the glass of wine she had been sipping on. "Apparently, Margaret thinks that the MC is bad for business, and thus in order to do my job properly, I should distance myself from you scoundrels." She added, swirling the red liquid in her glass before turning it back.

"That red headed bitch that always pokes her nose in people's business?" Tig snorted. "She was up Tara's ass for a while. I guess you're the new scapegoat." He muttered.

"Lucky me.." Peyton sighed, running her fingers through her brown curls. "You know, it wouldn't be that difficult, but you leather-clad boys are just so damn sexy." She murmured, reaching out and stroking his short beard.

Tig's calloused hands pulled her into his lap with ease, her legs positioned on either side of his hips, now straddling him. "The MC has a lot of love for you too, baby." His fingers nimbly undid the loose tie on her robe before pushing it gently over her shoulders. The thin grey material of her sleepwear draped loosely over her figure, her nipples already hardened beneath the fabric.

The fingers of one of her hands knotted tightly in the dark mess of curls atop his head while the other rested lightly on his chest. Peyton's lips hovered over his before they roughly met.

It went from zero to one hundred in an instant. His lips crushed hers, his tongue slipped into her mouth. Her fingers worked feverishly to undo the buttons on his black shirt, a few of the buttons popping off at the bottom as she grew impatient and gave a harsh tug. His hand slipped beneath the pale grey camisole she wore and began kneading one of her breasts, the other firmly grasping her ass.

She pulled her top over her head and tossed it onto the floor before helping Tig, who had scooted closer to the edge of the couch, out of both his leather kutte and black button down. His lips moved from her throat to the breast, nipping and sucking at the pale skin before taking her nipple between his teeth.

A soft moan escaped from her lips as he gently tugged on her nipple with his teeth. Her hips ground into his as she felt him growing hard underneath her, the fabric concealing their bodies formed a restrictive barrier.

His hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of her shorts, his index and middle fingers circling her clitoris. He continued the motion for a few minutes before slipping both fingers inside of her, slowly at first, but then sliding them in and out of her with more vigor. One of her hands grasped his shoulder as she thrust her hips further down onto his fingers while the other gripped her breast, twisting her nipple between two fingers.

"Fuck me." Peyton said breathily.


	5. Chapter 5

Peyton had managed to maneuver she and Tig down the hallway and toward her bedroom. There were no objections, not that she expected any from her male counterpart. The journey from one room to a next was a bit clumsy, as the two had fumbled with shedding the remaining layers of clothing they wore.

Tig pushed her back onto the mattress, and without hesitation, climbed onto the bed after her. Her legs parted, instinctively drawing them up to her chest. Without any hesitation on his part, and certainly without warning, he thrust into her hard. It left her breathless, the combination of force and size of his member.

She had heard raunchy banter between the men at the MC, of which, Tig had stated that he was a "very large man". She hadn't taken it to heart, as men enjoyed stroking their egos while talking about their penises, often times exaggerating greatly for show. Now she wished she had given it a little more thought before propositioning him for sex.

One of Tig's hands gripped her hip tightly, the other rested on the bed for balance as he continued to thrust into her rhythmically, short and fast. Peyton's nails drug down his back as he fashioned his mouth around one of her nipples again. Small noises of pleasure sprung from her lips as he continued to assault her body with his own.

She wrapped her legs around his taunt body as Tig's thrusts become slower, deeper. Her teeth bit at the tattoo of a reaper on his shoulder, resulting in a low moan from him. Almost as if to punish her, Tig slapped her on the ass hard, causing a small cry to make its way from her lips.

Unbeknownst to him, she happened to enjoy a little light bdsm. Her walls clenched tightly around his member and her head fell back against the pillow as she cried out in pleasure. She couldn't recall the time she had come so hard with a partner. Her legs were trembling in ecstasy by the time Tig had begun to orgasm. Her hands slid down to his firm buttocks, gripping them firmly as he thrust into her a few more times after he had come.

He rolled onto his back next to her on the bed, his chest still heaving lightly from the exertion. Peyton turned her head to the side, glancing at the much older gentlemen lying in her bed. Her eyes looked over his form, one arm above his head, the other rested at his side as he caught his breath.

She turned onto her side, resting on her elbow as her fingers trailed softly over the patch of fine hair that grew on his chest. "You should stay. Besides, I don't think I'm finished using you just yet." She murmured, biting her lip playfully.

The next morning, Peyton was awoken by the sound of a phone ringing in the distance. She knew it had to have been Tig's since hers was on the bedside table to her right. Groaning, she shook his shoulder lightly. "You're being summoned back to Oz." She muttered grumpily. Sitting up in bed, she shifting at the soreness coming from her nether-regions. The pair had fooled around twice more before they had fallen asleep for good early that morning. The thought of such shenanigans bringing forth a small smile which contrasted with her previously irritable mood.

She watched as his naked body climbed out of bed and walked out into the hallway to retrieve the phone that woke the two of them from their slumber. She tilted her head as he ducked around the corner, biting her lip as her eyes stayed glued to his ass while he was still within sight. "Jesus Christ." She whispered, going to start a shower.

She had just stepped under the spray of the water, soaking her hair and cascading down her body, when he had waltzed into the bedroom. He was dressed in the jeans from the night before as he rested against the doorframe. He watched her for a moment before speaking up.

"Gotta go. Something came up with the MC." Tig said, hand resting on his hip.

"I figured if you put your clothes back on." Peyton teased, running her fingers through her now drenched hair. "Hey.. Can we not let word of this get back to the MC?" She questioned slightly uncomfortable.

"Afraid you'll hurt Juice's feelings?" He inquired, a note of amusement highlighting his voice.

"That, and.. I'd rather word not get spread around town. I'm still new at this job, and Margaret would have a fucking stroke if she knew I was sleeping with someone from the MC, let alone Tig Trager." She admitted. "Still, I'd like to keep this going.. If you're up to it." She added, a twinkle in her eye.

Tig closed in the distance between the two of them with a few easy strides. "You got it, baby." He grinned, catching her lips for a short, quick kiss. "See you later." He added with a wink, slapping her on the ass lightly before he departed.


	6. Chapter 6

Peyton was on her lunch break in the cafeteria at St. Thomas when a chair pulled up next to her. Glancing up from her phone and half-eaten sandwich, she noticed Dr. Tara Knowles sitting to her left.

"Hey." Tara said, offering her a warm smile as she began unpacking her lunch. "I'd ask how your weekend went, but judging by the mark on your neck, I'm assuming really well." She teased, casting the fellow brunette a grin.

"Mm.. Tinder date. You tussle with the tiger, apparently you get bit." Peyton lied, her cheeks slightly flushing at how noticeable a few marks remained even after a generous application of makeup. She applauded herself on her wordplay though, recalling she had called Tig by the pet name of tiger over the past few nights.

"How do you like it here? I know living in Charming was never something you considered on a permanent basis, but now that you took the job here at St. Thomas, are you feeling a little better about your decision?" Tara asked, stabbing at the salad she had made herself. She had been careful to change the subject, noticing the heat that had flooded the younger woman's cheeks.

"Honestly? It's grown on me. I mean, it certainly isn't what I had envisioned for myself, but it's slowly starting to feel like home, oddly enough. If we're being completely transparent here, it's a hell of a lot safer than Memphis, even with the gang violence that everyone seems to bent out of shape about." Peyton laughed, mentally evaluating the drastic difference in crime rate statistics between Charming and Memphis.

She hadn't understood what all of the commotion was about. Granted, it was a small town, one that was trying to be the spitting image of Mayberry, but every town in America had some form of crime. A state that shared so many borders was bound to have some type of criminal activity.

"I'm glad you like it better now. You're a great asset to this team. You've made my job considerably easier now that I don't have to play doctor and counselor in one. Honestly the hospital needed a woman's touch. Johnson and O'Malley are qualified technically, but they aren't exactly the best at handling more delicate matters for patients." Tara admitted, singing Peyton's praises.

It was a huge relief that someone as highly respected as Dr. Knowles was in her corner. Having the doctor backing her when need be, and even suggesting patients see her rather than the two men who she rotated shifts with gave her not only a confidence boost, but also a leg up in her career. Considering she had only been a licensed psychiatrist for the past three months, she was able to excel within her field more quickly than anticipated.

"Thank you, Tara. Coming from you.. that means a lot." Peyton murmured, taking another bite of her sandwich. While she appreciated the positive feedback and praise, she had never been the most comfortable when it came to accepting compliments.

The next thirty minutes passed rather quickly with the two women chattering about various things. Naturally, Tara brought up Abel and Thomas in the conversation. She was a proud mother, and rightfully so. Peyton had spent some time with the boys at daycare with Tara a handful of times. Much to Tara and Jax's distaste, Abel's birth mother had reappeared and was requesting time with her son. That drama was on the forefront of the Tara's mind as of late, and Peyton had begun watching the boys while Tara worked out the legal kinks regarding custody of Abel.

Peyton went about the rest of her day as per usual. While she had originally started out counseling the patients or loved ones of patients in house, Margaret had surprised her recently but suggesting she add outside clients to her roster. It was a good sign, one that showed her boss trusted Peyton to take on more responsibility.

As she stepped out of her office to grab a bottle of water, she noticed Gemma Teller sitting uncomfortably in one of the chairs lined against the wall of the small waiting area.

"Gemma?" Peyton questioned, concern furrowing her brow.

"Hey doc.. Can we talk?" Gemma questioned, grabbing the black purse she had been clutching tightly against her abdomen.

"Yeah.. Yeah come in." Peyton insisted, motioning toward the hallway. She led her about ten feet down the hall before unlocking the door to her office. "Please, have a seat." She said, sinking down into the chair behind her desk.

"Thanks." Gemma muttered, brushing her choppy bangs from her eyes.

"What can I do for you?" Peyton questioned. While it was obvious that Gemma had been through hell and back by the cuts and bruises on her face, she knew how tough Mrs. Teller-Morrow was. She dared not test the waters by presuming anything happen, let alone at the hands of the MC. While she had never been comfortable around Clay, she didn't think he was capable of putting his hands on his wife.

"Uh.. I don't know if I should even be here." Gemma started, tapping her nails absentmindedly against the arm of the chair she sat in.

"Anything you tell me in here is confidential. Legally." Peyton added, hoping she woman sitting across from her would feel slightly more at ease knowing that nothing shared within the room would get out. While Peyton also had a legal obligation to report criminal activity, she was going to break the code of ethics by sliding that under the rug. If Gemma had been ballsy enough to come to a public place and speak with her, morals and ethics be damned.

"About a week ago I was raped. Tara knows.. She's the only one who knows. She suggested I come talk to you." Gemma admitted, glancing up at the much younger brunette before back down at her nails.

"I'm sorry, Gemma." Peyton said softly, before pausing. "Survivors of sexual assault often feel better talking to someone about the experience. Personally it was helpful for me." She added, giving Gemma a small, understanding smile.

For the next hour or so the two women talked. Peyton even suggested one of her clients see Dr. O'Malley whilst she continued talking to Gemma. She knew that it was against everything Mrs. Teller-Morrow ever stood for, coming to talk about her problems. It was shown as a sign of weakness. In which case, Peyton felt obligated to cater to Gemma's emotional needs. This was a hardy woman who had seen, done, and been through hell and back. She wasn't about to push her away at her worst.

Scribbling on a piece of paper, Peyton handed Gemma a prescription to be filled. "Here.. Xanax if the panic attacks start to get too bad. Just, please, don't mix it with alcohol.. I really don't want you ODing and the MC coming after my ass." She added on a lighter note.

"Thanks doc." Gemma murmured, gently taking the paper and shoving it into her purse.

"If you ever want to talk outside of here, Juice has my number. Or you can get it from the records at TM." Peyton smiled, gathering up her things. Gemma had managed to keep her just after her shift was ending, but she didn't mind in the least bit. In fact, her days ending with the MC were just getting started.


	7. Chapter 7

The next several months passed with routine - work kept Peyton busy during the week, though weeknights were often spent hanging out with Juice; and the weekend was reserved for play with Tig. Whenever he wasn't out on "official MC business" that is. She loathed being told that, as if an explanation was needed five months down the line into their shenanigans. However, she imagined he did it just to raise her blood pressure, as pushing Peyton's buttons seemed to be a real source of amusement for him.

Since Clay was in a tizzy yet again, Tig was, as always, his right hand man, which meant she would be spending her weekend without him. Instead, she called up Juice around 5pm to see if he wanted to come over for a movie marathon. If she couldn't have her boytoy, no reason she couldn't spend it with her other boy from the SOA.

Much to her delight, though not much to her surprise, Juice was happy to come over and binge on pizza and beer with her. The MC had caught onto their close-knit friendship, and she was slowly but slowly gaining their trust, even though she didn't step foot onto Teller-Morrow's lot very often. She imagined a lot of that had to do with Gemma rather than Juice, as the Old Lady of Clay and Mother of the group had much more pull than Juice. Still, she had to be wary of spending too much time in public with any of the members, as Margaret still had a hard-on to keep Peyton away from the MC life that had swallowed Tara up whole.

Peyton pulled into her driveway around 6:30pm, a box of pizza in the passenger seat as well as two cases of beer for she and Juice to share that evening. Just as she was returning to her car for the box of pizza, the handsome young biker was pulling into the driveway beside her.

"Hey." Juice grinned, swinging off of his Harley. "Want some help with that?" It was a question, though he took the box of pizza from her hands and bounded toward the front door, likely so he could dig into the grub without her. Laughing quietly, she followed after the Puerto Rican biker.

"Beer?" Peyton questioned, opening a kitchen drawer next to the sink to look for a bottle opener. Upon finding one, she turned and grabbed a six pack out of the refrigerator. Opening two for them, she nodded toward the living room. He grabbed the box of pizza threw a pile of napkins on top before following her the short distance between rooms.

"We still watching Lord of the Rings?" Juice asked excitedly, shoving a piece of pizza into his mouth.

"Hell yes! You're literally the only person who would willingly marathon the series with me." Peyton added, scrolling through an immense collection of illegally downloaded movies on the laptop Juice had left at her house a few nights ago. "We're in business, baby." Peyton chimed, hopping down onto the couch next to him.

Throughout the night, the two had managed to drink two six packs, finish a large pizza (mostly his doing), and fall asleep halfway through the third film. Stirring awake, Juice woke to see Peyton asleep on his chest, his arm wrapped around her, with a blanket covering the two of them. Blinking a few times, Juice glanced at his phone for the time. 3:24am.

Rubbing her arm gently, Juice attempted to wake her up. "Peyton, I'm gonna head home. Go get in bed." He said quietly.

Shaking her head, Peyton buried her face against his chest, her fingers curling around his shirt. "Mm-mm." She protested grumpily.

Laughing quietly, Juice began tickling her. It did the trick waking her up, but he also got punched pretty hard in the arm. "Fiiiiine." She muttered, standing in front of the couch. "It's late though. Just sleep here." She insisted, rubbing her eyes.

"If it means avoiding another punch, I will. Damn, girl" Juice muttered, rubbing his arm lightly.

Grabbing her phone and bottle of water off the side table, she made her way down the hall toward her bedroom. Flipping on the light, she froze. "Juuuice!" She shouted, stumbling backward a few steps.

Running the short distance between them, gun in hand, Juice pushed inside the doorway, wondering what had her so spooked. Spread out on her bed were dozens of pictures spelling out S O A. "Jesus Christ.." He muttered, stepping closer to the bed to examine the photographs. Upon closer inspection, all of them were shots of Peyton and Tig's sexual escapades. Instead of making her even more uncomfortable by questioning her about her relationship with Tig, he insisted that they call the MC about the situation.

"No. I do not want the club involved in this." Peyton said firmly, unlocking her phone to take a photograph of someone's handiwork on her bed. "Don't touch these either.."

"The club already is involved, Peyton. Someone has been taking pictures of you and a member of the MC within the confines of your own home. I imagine it has more to do with us than it does you." Juice explained, turning to look at her.

"Just Tig.. Please?" Her voice was much softer, her emotional state becoming more fragile the longer she stared at the photos.

"Yeah. Yeah.. Come on. Let's go sit on the couch while we wait for him." Juice insisted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her back toward the other room. He quietly called Tig from the doorway of her bedroom after he got her seated on the couch, careful not to let his voice carry down the hall and expose the worry he held for her.

She sat picking the polish off her nails nervously, when there was heavy knocking at her front door. Jumping, her eyes darted toward he door. Juice patted her knee lightly before going to look through the peep hole, his gun already drawn.

"Put that shit down before I beat your ass, Juice." Tig muttered, pushing past the younger, olive skinned man. "You okay, baby?" He questioned, his tone instantly becoming softer, though she could tell he was on high alert.

"Yeah.." She lied, rising from the couch, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself. She led the way down the hall toward the master, though she knew Tig wouldn't need any help finding the room. She didn't want to be left out of their conversation about what happened and how to deal with it. "Don't touch anything. Please."

"Shit." Tig muttered, his hands resting on his hips as he walked toward Peyton's bed. Staring at the photos for a long time, he began glancing around the room. "Juice, check the air vents. Those were taken from inside here. Gloves." He motioned toward the two vents in the bedroom before pressing his pair of gloves against the Puerto Rican's chest.

Nodding, Juice scooted items aside and hopped up onto her dresser. "I need a flat-head screw driver." He stated, glancing down at the two on the ground.

"I'll get it." Peyton nodded, heading into the kitchen. She kept a small toolbox in the back of her pantry, not thrilled with the idea of going out into her garage every time she needed to do some minor fix around the house.

Juice waited until he knew Peyton would be out of earshot before glaring at Tig. "What the hell, man? When did this start?" He inquired, pointing toward the display of photographs on the bed.

"A quarter past none of your fucking business?" Tig spat out initially. Given the look Juice shot him, he spoke again. "A while." He finally relented, a hand rested lightly on his hip.

"It's not cool you're using her, man." Juice muttered.

"Why? Jealous it's not you in her bed?" Tig asked, snarkily.

"No. It's not like that. We're totally platonic." Juice said, surprised.

"Platonic? Sounds kinky." Tig added.

"Platonic means nonsexual, asshole." Juice stated a little louder, irritation dripping from the words.

"You know, you could just use a loudspeaker to have this conversation. You guys really suck at talking behind people's backs." Peyton added, striding through the door with the appropriate screwdriver before handing it to Juice whose face began to flush.

Tig fought the urge to smile, knowing full-well that Peyton was a miniature, less violent version of Gemma. Battles had to be picked and chosen, and with her nerves fried, not was not the time. "Sorry." He said softly, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

While the two of them weren't a couple per-say, Peyton and Tig had managed to become exclusive sexual partners over time. She didn't necessarily want to share him with other women, and he certainly seemed to grow irritable knowing she wasn't sleeping with anyone else as of late. The first few months they had been non-exclusive and dated other people, but it didn't work out as well as they had envisioned.

"Camera." Juice stated, pulling a small electronic device that had been focused on the bed from the space in one of the air vents. Much to her discomfort, a second camera had been found in the other air vent, yet again positioned toward her bed. "I'll check the ones in the bathroom too." He insisted, setting the cameras down onto the foot of the bed.

All in all, three cameras had been found, two in the bedroom, one in her bathroom. Now that they were disconnected, the trio of people stood staring at the bed, wondering what their next move would be, and who would have motive to pull such a move.

"I texted David.. Um. Deputy Hale. He should be here soon." Peyton corrected, glancing uncomfortably at the pair of leather-clad men in her bedroom.


	8. Chapter 8

Juice and Tig exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Charming PD were the last people that they needed involved in such a scandal. It was sure to bring hellfire and brimstone falling down onto the MC.

"What the hell, baby? You called the police?" Tig asked as calmly as he could, though his voice was strained. Juice sank down onto the chair he had previously been standing, color draining from his face.

"Relax, you two. I texted an old friend. I'm not involving Charming PD in this. I'm not an idiot. I know that would be detrimental to the club." Peyton asserted. "That's why I told you two not to touch anything. He's bringing a kit and going to dust for prints." She added, shaking her head before going back into the living room.

Juice stood up, following Peyton's lead. Before leaving the bedroom though, he blocked the doorway so that Tig couldn't leave. "Is this a good idea? I mean, do we really trust Hale not to throw this on the club?" He whispered anxiously.

With an unwavering stare, Tig finally nodded. "We're going to have to. Besides, if we have leverage on the good cop, it may come in handy." He muttered, pushing Juice's arm out of the way roughly before taking a spot on the couch next to Peyton.

It wasn't their distrust in Peyton, but more so Deputy Hale. Hale had been the polar opposite of Chief Unser since he joined the police department in Charming. While Unser had one foot in the door with the MC, Hale was right behind him trying to sever all ties between Charming PD and the Sons of Anarchy. This situation would either bring a newfound alliance between the Sons and Hale, or it could be the worst possible thing for them. Luckily for the Sons, there wasn't much criminal activity stirring in Charming at the moment.

Peyton felt overly exposed, hyper-aware of every movement, glance, and expression made by the two men in her living room. The light touch of Tig's hand resting on her knee was both comforting and made her extremely uncomfortable in the presence of Juice. Had Juice known about the two being involved prior to tonight's incident, it wouldn't have affected her so much. However, being outed by a slew of risque photographs that displayed the many facets of her sex life made her feel dirty and ashamed.

It sickened her to know that someone entered her home, the one place everyone should feel safe, without her knowledge or permission. She wasn't afraid that she would be physically harmed, not since she was such good friends with one member of the MC and, quite literally, in bed with the Sergent of Arms. She was, however, already psychologically being tortured, running a thousand scenarios in her head.

The doorbell ringing echoed through the quiet house, causing Peyton to tense immediately in response. Juice hopped up off of the arm of the loveseat adjacent to the couch she and Tig were seated on and glanced through the peephole. "Hale." Juice stated with a quick glance over at Peyton.

"Let him in." She rose from the couch, crossing her arms across her chest.

David Hale glanced between the two members of the MC before speaking. "What are they doing here?" He asked, tone quizzical as he sat down the kit she requested onto the hardwood floor. He looked so out of place, dressed in a pair of dark grey sweats and a navy t-shirt rather than the tan police uniform that typically adorned his body.

"Can I have a minute?" Peyton asked softly, glancing between the two Sons.

"Yeah, okay." Juice stated, chipper as ever. "Come on, let's go get a smoke." He insisted, glancing anxiously at Tig as he hesitated.

"Yeah" Tig muttered, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket before following the peppy Puerto Rican outside.

Peyton stared at the floor for a long moment before looking up at Hale. "I um.. I was hanging out with Juice - we were binge watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy.. He and I are pretty good friends." She started, finding relief when he didn't begin to scrutinize her for her choice in friendship. "We fell asleep, I was going to go to bed, and I walked into the bedroom. There were photographs lying on my bed spelling out SOA. Juice also found three cameras in the vents. Two in the bedroom, one in the bathroom."

"Why the hell is Trager here then?" David questioned, his brows furrowing together.

She began chewing on her bottom lip anxiously, diverting her eyes away from Hale's body. "Because the pictures are of me.. and him. We've been sleeping together for the past five months."

"Jesus Christ, Peyton." Deputy Hale muttered, rubbing his temples.

She could tell by his tone and body language that, for her own benefit, she shouldn't look him in the face. The Sons of Anarchy were at the top of his list to catch on various charges, specifically that of the illegal gun running that the town knew they did, but was never able to prove it. While he had been kind enough to sweep her friendship with, arguably, the least guilty in the group, containing his distaste for her involvement with Alexander Trager was something she knew wouldn't pan out well.

Quickly wiping at a few tears that managed to escape, Peyton composed herself. "Everything is on the bed.. I made sure they didn't touch any of it." Her eyes were still glued to a random spot on the hardwood when she felt his arm draw around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to upset you." Hale whispered against the top of her head. "I just want better for you." He insisted, pressing his lips gently to her forehead before grabbing his forensic kit and striding toward the familiar bedroom.

She felt sick to her stomach as she turned toward the kitchen and poured herself two fingers of whiskey. The nagging feeling of dragging in David Hale, having him bear witness to the sexually explicit photographs of her and one of the men he hated most was weighing on her conscious. She knew very well though, that had she not requested help from him, Juice and Tig would have not only taken it to the club, but taken action in the form of vigilante justice. She didn't want anyone harmed, just to feel safe again.

She hopped up onto the marble counter top and poured another round of whiskey into the glass she had been holding. She was emotionally drained and just wanted to sleep, but knew very well that sleep wouldn't come easy, especially with her current and ex lover under the same roof. Angry tears began streaming down her cheeks as she heard the sound of to pair of footfalls entering the house again.

Juice nodded in Peyton's direction before slipping away into the living room, giving Tig a chance to comfort her.

"You okay, doll?" Tig asked quietly, gently wiping away a few tears with his thumb. It was strangely intimate for the typically abrasive biker.

Peyton scoffed, setting down the once again empty glass before shaking her head. "Someone broke into my house, recorded us having sex without our knowledge, and now I have an ex-boyfriend who can't stand you just as much as you hate him dusting those same photographs for prints. So, no, I'm not okay, Alex."

Tig tensed at this knew-found knowledge. He and Juice had gathered that Deputy Chief Hale and Peyton had been friendly prior to this incident, but they weren't able to determine how closely they were involved. Clearly Hale had feelings for the brunette - it was written all over his face - but the fact that it was reciprocated had not dawned on him.

"Shit.. You dated Hale? For how long?" He questioned.

"A little over a year.. I met him in one of my classes while I was still studying in Lodi. He and I broke up about six months before we got involved." She remarked, toying with the empty glass beside her absentmindedly.

 

"Christ, man.." He muttered, running his hands through his hair.

"Guys, I'm gonna run home and try to get some info off of these cameras. No prints." Juice insisted, tucking the cameras now contained within a plastic bag into the pocket of his kutte. "We'll find something, Peyton." He added a little softer, pulling her in for a quick hug before quietly slipping out the front door.

For the next hour and a half, Peyton was curled up on the couch with Tig, attempting to fall asleep. Each time she began to doze, she would wake with a jolt, paranoid that she had unwelcome guests within her home. Frustrated, she grabbed the blanket and tossed it onto the floor just as Deputy Hale was coming down the hall.

"I managed to dust most of the photos. I have one partial, but it's a long shot. I'll finish the rest of these after my shift, tonight." David stated, glancing first at Peyton, then Tig, and resting his gaze on Peyton once more. "I'll come by later to check for signs of a break in. You should change the locks as a precaution. Try to get some sleep." He insisted, grabbing his keys from one of the pockets of his grey sweats.

"Thank you, David." Peyton said softly, offering him a small, grateful smile.

Nodding, Hale ducked out of the front door, making sure it was locked before pulling it closed. While he cared for Peyton, he wasn't willing to let his softer side show in front of any of the members of the Sons of Anarchy. The same went for Alexander Trager, whose steely demeanor radiated from the spot he occupied on the couch. Clearly Tig was at home there, which got underneath Hale's skin more than he would like to admit.


	9. Chapter 9

A few days later, Peyton was awoken by someone gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open to see Deputy Chief Hale sitting on the loveseat near her feet. While reading over a patient's file, she had apparently fallen asleep. Caffeine from coffee and energy drinks could only keep you up so long before you crashed and burned. Considering any time she closed her eyes she was afraid someone was in the room, sleep was hard to come by.

"You okay?"

His voice was soft, gentle, and obviously laced with concern. She knew it was likely because he knew her so well, and that she had gotten little to no sleep in the past three days. Even though Tig had been staying with her at night to keep her company, she still had difficulty sleeping in her own home, in the same bed she had been recorded. Once you felt violated and unsafe, it was hard to find your way back.

"I will be if you have information to share." Peyton murmured, still groggy as she sat up on the loveseat, legs crossed. "Whatcha got for me?"

"That partial was the only print left behind. I was able to pull it and had Teri run it through the system. It came back to a Mateo Gonzalez.. Any idea who that might be?" David asked, pulling up a photograph on his phone before handing the device to her.

Studying the photo, Peyton shook her head slowly. "I've never seen him before.. Any priors?" She questioned, making no note of any apparent gang-affiliated tattoos.

"Nothing serious. A few drunk and disorderly, drug paraphernalia - a pipe, to be more specific. Some marijuana was found in his car at that time as well. Simple things that warranted tickets. No known gang affiliation. No family in gangs. He was a confidential informant a few years back, but nothing on record since 2014."

Her brows furrowed together, slightly confused that a CI had been the one to break into her home. What had possessed someone who worked with law enforcement to break into the ex-girlfriend of the Deputy Chief's home and plant cameras? "No prior allegations of sex crimes? Even if they weren't prosecuted or came up empty?" She inquired, running her fingers through her hair absentmindedly.

"None. That's what I don't get. That's a huge jump from nothing at all to breaking and entering for the thrill. Normally there are signs. It worries me that it has something to do with the Sons.. I don't like that you may be collateral damage in a plan much bigger than yourself." Hale admitted, frowning.

She could hear the concern in his voice, but also the distaste at the mentioning of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. She elbowed him playfully, a small smile dancing about her lips.

"I'll be fine, David.. Promise. I changed the locks. You checked for signs of a break in. I had an alarm system installed this morning. Everything's gonna be fine. And I don't get involved in any of the shit that has to do with the club - I don't want to know about it." She added, giving his tense shoulder a squeeze.

Sighing, Hale nodded. The two sat in silence for a moment, David trying to get his bearings to ask about the situation with Peyton and Tig. "Peyton.. How'd you get involved with him? You knew about the club before you made that decision. I guess I just want to know, why him?"

Peyton knew that there was more to his question. Reading between the lines became a necessity when you dated anyone in law enforcement - or were involved with those on the opposite side of the law. She couldn't help but detect a bit of dejection, a bit of his pride hurt by her decision, if you will.

"Honestly? I never planned on it happening. It started out as just sex. I didn't want anything similar to what you and I had. I was trying to avoid the commitment of it all. Alex offered me that. No strings attached. No questions asked. He and I are friends now, but we're not exclusive or anything. The club doesn't know. Before the other night, it was just between the two of us. Now you and Juice are, unfortunately, clued into the fact as well." She murmured, shrugging her delicate shoulders lightly.

His expression went from blank to grim at the mention of their previous relationship. It seemed to deter him from being too irate about her relationship with Alexander Trager. For that she was thankful, however, seeing him still hurting over the breakup was difficult to swallow.

"I made the right call, David.. About you and me. I couldn't give you want you deserved." Peyton whispered, offering him a sad smile. The truth was, she would always love David Hale. She was no longer in love with him, but she cared deeply for him. When two people had been through what all they had experienced, it was difficult not to harbor some form of affection for that person, even if it was due to the fact that someone knew exactly how the other felt.

"Who cares what I deserved? I wanted you, Peyton. I would have been happy with just you." David muttered, his voice sour. She could tell that her previous statement had struck a nerve.

"You would have ended up resenting me. You wanted the house with a white picket fence and kids running around in the yard. I never saw that for myself. You fucking deserve to have everything you want in life. I wasn't willing to be the one to keep you from having what you wanted." Peyton spat, her nerves becoming unraveled once more.

He placed his head into his hands for a moment, elbows resting on his knees. No, he hadn't gotten over the breakup, even though it had happened a year prior. Secretly he had hoped that she would come around to the idea of having a family, getting married. He was ready for that, but she wasn't. Granted, she was 10 years his junior, but he had never felt the desire to settle down prior to meeting her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. You have enough going on right now." David apologized quietly, looking up at her with a forlorn glance. Rising from his seat, he took a few steps toward the door to the office before turning back to her. "I guess the whole Trager thing kind of pushed me over the edge. I'm sorry. I'll let you know if I find out anything else about this guy."

As he turned toward the door once more, she grabbed his hand, halting him. "I love you, David. You're one of the very best people I've ever met, and you have the kindest of souls. You deserve the world. Unfortunately, I'm not the one who can give it to you." Peyton insisted, reaching up to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

It was a farewell. A gentle nudge for Hale to move forward with his life. Peyton wasn't going to come around to the ideal life that David Hale had mapped out in his mind, and she was unwilling to have him change that for her. She wanted nothing more for him to stay ever the same.

She watched him leave, pulling the door closed behind him, before gathering up her things. She was unable to focus and knew she would be no help to whoever happened to step through her door. Instead, with a sense of dread, she headed toward Margaret Murphy's office. Hesitating outside of the doorway, she finally forced herself to knock on the metal door frame.

"Do you have a minute to talk?" Peyton questioned.

"Yes, of course. Come in." The redhead insisted, motioning toward a chair adjacent to her desk.

"Um, I know I haven't been here very long, but I was hoping I could have the rest of the day off? Maybe even tomorrow? A few days ago I had someone break into my home, and honestly I haven't slept much since the incident. Deputy Chief Hale is working the case, so you could verify it with him if need be." The brunette offered, leaving out the less than desirable details from her explanation.

"That won't be necessary. Deputy Chief Hale actually stopped by here before heading to your office. Come back and work your regular shift Friday. I'll arrange it to where your schedule is cleared." Margaret insisted, offering her a smile.

"Thank you, Margaret.." Peyton expressed her gratitude.

The drive home was a blur. She honestly couldn't recall making the decision to turn onto the appropriate streets and pause at the stop signs posted along the way. She found herself secure behind the newly installed alarm system of her home with ease, taking comfort in knowing it was an added layer of safety she could hide behind. The only other two individuals who knew the pass codes were Juice and Tig for obvious reasons.

She drowsily changed out of her work attire and into an oversized t-shirt of Tig's that was stuffed into a drawer in her bedroom before climbing into bed. While she had been nervous about being filmed without consent at first, she knew that it was no longer a threat, and that her two Sons had swept the house for additional recording devices.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep.


End file.
